“You have to fear, Marquis,” Selingman replied ponderously, “the inevitable laws which direct the progress of nations.  Treaties solemnly subscribed to in one generation become worthless as time passes and conditions change.”

“But I do not understand you there!” the other man exclaimed.  “What you say sounds to me like a reflection upon the honour of your country.  Do you mean to insinuate that she would possibly—­that she would ever for a moment contemplate breaking her pledged and sealed word?”

“My friend,” Selingman pronounced drily, “the path of honour and glory, the onward progress of a mighty, struggling nation, carrying in its hand culture and civilisation, might demand even such a sacrifice.  Germany recognises, is profoundly imbued with the splendour of her own ideals, the matchlessness of her own culture.  She feels justified in spreading herself out wherever she can find an outlet—­at any cost, mind, because the end must be good.”

There was a moment’s silence.  Then the tall man stood upright.

“If you came out to find me, my friend Selingman, to bring me this warning, I suppose I should consider myself your debtor.  As a matter of fact, I do not.  You have inspired me with nameless misgivings.  Your voice sounds in my ears like the voice of an ugly fate.  I am, as you have often reminded me, half German, and I have shown my friendship for Germany many times.  Unlike most of the aristocracy of my country, I look more often northwards than towards the south.  But I tell you frankly that there are limits to my Germanism.  I will play no more golf.  I will walk with you to the club-house.”

“All that I have to say,” Selingman went on, “is not yet said.  This opportunity of meeting you is too precious to be wasted.  Come.  As we walk there are certain questions I wish to put to you.”

They passed within a few feet of where Norgate was lying.  He closed his eyes and held his breath.  It was not until their figures were almost specks in the distance that he rose cautiously to his feet.  He made his way back to the club-house by another angle, gained his taxicab unobserved, and drove back to Ostend.

* * * * *

Towards evening Norgate strolled into one of the cosmopolitan bars at the back of the Casino.  The first person he saw as he handed over his hat to a waiter, was Selingman, spread out upon a cushioned seat with a young lady upon either side of him.  He at once summoned Norgate to his table.

“An aperitif,” he insisted.  “Come, you must not refuse me.  In two hours we start.  We tear ourselves away from this wonderful atmosphere.  In atmosphere, mademoiselle,” he added, bowing to the right and the left, “all is included.”

“It is not,” Norgate admitted, “an invitation to be disregarded.  On the other hand, I have already an appetite.”

Selingman thundered out an order.

“Here,” he remarked, “we dwell for a few brief moments in Bohemia.  I do not introduce you.  You sit down and join us.  You are one of us.  That you speak only English counts for nothing.  Mademoiselle Alice here is American.  Now tell us at once, how have you spent this afternoon?  You have bathed, perhaps, or walked upon the sands?”